Balm of Barista
by KurumiSophia
Summary: In the aftermath of Kate's death, Neal finds comfort in the arms of a barista from his favorite coffee shop. Tag for Out of the Box.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: T for dropping of the f-bomb and other socially inappropriate words, sexual content, and canonical whump.  
>Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own White Collar or Rise Against. I am only playing with them and will put all back as it was when I'm done. Unbeta'ed so all mistakes within are mine.<p>

He was smartly dressed, scratch that, impeccably dressed and, like most of her other customers, never failed to seize an opportunity to hit on her. Yet there was something different about him. She just couldn't place her finger on it. It had to be the hat. Plenty of well dressed men passed through the coffee shop but none of them were like him. Yes, it had to be the hat. Jauntily tipped across his brow, framing wide blue eyes, a well formed nose and expressive mouth, the hat was the coup de grace on a man who approached his wardrobe like a it was a masterpiece to be painted each and every morning. It would have looked out of placed on anyone else but on him, it was simply perfect.

With an ear trained for gossip, she learned two very important things about him. One, he was a criminal on some sort of probation. Two, his name was Neal.

He'd started coming in a few months ago, a small stack of file folders under his arm. After ordering his coffee, he settled into a corner table with the same smile he'd greeted her with ever lurking at the corner of his mouth. Occasionally, the smile would turn into a frown of concentration. What she wouldn't give to have those eyes and lips turn on her. She felt her cleft moisten and her nipples tighten into nubs. Every fiber of her being turned electric with the thought of him. Wait. Did she have a crush? On a customer? No. It wasn't possible. She absolutely did NOT get crushes. She was all ways the crushee, not the crusher. Well, fuck. There it was. She most certainly did have a crush. Now what the hell was she going to do about it?

Neal's erratic visits eventually settled into a pattern; two to three times a week he would stay for a few hours, sometimes with a handful of files and other times with a sketchbook. He ordered the same thing, every time; Italian roast, double shot, one cream, and one sugar. As usual, he flashed her a winning smile; the one that says "trust me, I'm harmless" and, as usual, she grew warm under the sheen of sweat and espresso bean dust. Painfully aware of the blush that crept its way up from her collar, she found herself grateful for the need to get more espresso beans while she set his shots to pull. Turning from the machine, she grabbed the unopened bag of beans from its resting place on the top shelf and took a brief moment to rein in her runaway emotions. A couple of deep breaths later, she returned her wayward attention to the espresso machine and discovered, to her horror, that the shots had pulled for far longer then the required eighteen to twenty five seconds. As she emptied the filters, she let loose a string of invectives under her breath that would have gotten her fired had she said them aloud.

"Be just a moment, sir," she said hastily, hyper aware of those deep blue eyes on her. Normally she wasn't this tongue tied. You couldn't be a barista and be shy but something about Neal turned her into a sixteen year old girl all over again. Grinding yet more beans, tamping the grounds, and pulling the shots correctly this time, she handed over his espresso and found herself fascinated by his hands. Those were the hands of an artist, she was certain of it, and she couldn't help but wonder what sort of art he created. "Sorry about your wait," she uttered, attempting to fill the silence where it hung after he had thanked her for his dosage of caffeine. She damned herself for the awkwardness of the statement and the effect that he had on her.

"I didn't mind, Brigid. Perfect espresso is worth the wait." For a moment there, she floated on Cloud Nine. He knew her name. Neal knew her name. Yet, not only did he know it, he pronounced it correctly. Life was good and, for a while, life remained that way. Neal would come in for coffee, Brigid would make it, and they would banter, Brigid blushing all the while. This visit was far different. There was no banter, no smile, only the look of a man now haunted by something that should not be. Looking at Neal, the only thing that came to her mind was one of her favorite Rise Against lyrics.

'If strength was born from heartbreak, then mountains I could move.  
>If walls could speak, I pray they would tell me what to do!<br>If you see me, please just walk on by. Walk on by.  
>Forget my name and I'll forget it too!'<p>

It was like he wanted to forget who he was, who he could be, and leave a mask in place for the rest of the world. This wasn't right. Her crush on Neal had deepened to a real caring over the months that he'd been coming to her shop. She couldn't stand by while he drowned. She wouldn't. Her inner sense of justice wouldn't let her.

Brigid glanced up at the clock and her eyebrows rose. Surely it wasn't almost time to close up. Neal never came in this late. Paired with his disheveled appearance, her instincts confirmed that something was most definitely wrong in the world of Neal. She glanced over at her fellow barista who was working on getting things shut down for the night. "Catie, I gotta split. Can you finish up for me? All you have to do is break down the machine and do the milks. Everything else is pretty much done." Brigid held her breath, knowing Catie's dislike for anyone leaving early. What she wasn't prepared for was the venom that came spewing from Catie's lips.

"It has to do with him, doesn't it?" she hissed. "You do realize he is a felon?" She spat the last word with the force of a thrown blade to the heart. "That's a tracking anklet he's wearing, not a fashion accessory. He's on a leash for a reason. If you want to get yourself hurt, Brigid. That's fine, its your funeral."

Brigid drew herself up to her full height, a paltry five foot three inches. "He is hurting, Catie! Look at him!" She gestured at Neal, slumped in a chair, head in his hands with his espresso untouched. "That is a man in mourning and if you don't want to help, then I will." She ripped off her apron and threw it on the counter. "You can finish on your own, I'm done."

Flouncing out from behind the counter, she paused long enough to empty the tip jar into her purse, anger dogging her every step. Just before she reached Neal, Brigid realized that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say to him. She was so caught up in her need to help him that she had no idea exactly how to accomplish that. Crap, this was not how it was supposed to go. Well, it was too late now; in for a penny, in for a pound as the old saying went. If this was a con, like Catie swore it was, it was a damn good one. This was the posture of a man in mourning, a man who had lost something so dear that it took his still beating heart and ripped it from his chest. This was not a con. It simply couldn't be. She bit her lip before settling into the chair next to his.

"Neal," Brigid said quietly. "I know we're not close but I want you to know." Her voice trailed off here, trying to find the right words to bring the man some modicum of comfort, of knowing that there was something in the world that he could hang on to despite losing what anchored him. "I want you to know that I'm here. If you need anything at all, someone to talk to, someone to just be there. You can count on that." The last words were said with a protectiveness that Brigid had no idea that she possessed. While she was certain that Neal was her elder by a few years, he looked so small and helpless in the chair at her side that she wanted nothing more then to gather him in her arms and hold him until the storm of emotions that raged in him calmed and allowed him to rest.

Gathering his face in her hands, she looked into blue eyes that had lost their focus and were trained on some inner vision of horror that she couldn't begin to comprehend. Her fingers brushed fallen locks aside from his forehead and she placed a chaste kiss where they had rested. Her lips lingered there, the smell of smoke, jet fuel, and Gods knew what else, emanating from his hair. Something truly awful had happened to her friend and she was powerless to help him. Tears to match Neal's appeared at the corner of her eyes and she squeezed them shut, determined to remain strong for him. Minutes felt like hours as they remained there, his head cradled between her hands, her lips on his forehead. The sound of slamming doors brought her back to the world outside.

"We have to leave. Come on." She tugged on his arm and again, found herself surprised. Despite his svelte figure, he was much heavier then he appeared. Asking Catie for help was out of the question. She tugged harder on his arms, bracing herself lest she fall on her butt while trying to get the man in an upright position. "Neal, I'm begging you, please. Help me help you. I need you to get up so we can get the hell out of here." Something about her tone must have pierced the fog that was Neal's brain and he allowed her to not only help him rise to his feet but leave the shop and into the cold air outside. Brigid managed a smile for his sake. "Well, that's progress. Now, we've got two choices. Your place or mine?"

"Mine," Neal murmured. "Safer." Brigid wasn't sure what he meant by "safer" but she was willing to run with it.

"Your place it is. Which way?"

Neal let his feet guide him home to June's. Neither he nor Brigid spoke on the frigid walk there, allowing a companionable silence to envelope them both, only knowing that it was the best balm for Neal's wounded soul on their walk. Arriving home, Neal waved off a worried June and allowed Brigid to take him upstairs to his apartment.

Brigid wasn't sure what to expect when she entered the door at the top of the stairs. The destruction that lay over the room was that of a madman. He had thrown or broken anything that had come to his hand. Canvases on easels were slashed, papers scattered on the floor like snow, broken glass winked at her from the hardwood floors. It was a veritable war zone. Attempting levity, she remarked "The cleaning lady on vacation this week?" Her attempt fell flat while Neal bee-lined for the wine rack for something to drown his sorrows in. "Oh no you don't!" She followed after him, prying the wine bottle out of his hands. "Look, we need to clean you and your apartment up. It looks like a bomb went off in here." She intended for her tone to be imperious, to have enough command to hopefully snap Neal out of his fog but instead it came out as a plea for his compliance. What she wasn't expecting was the visible flinch that came from him when she uttered the word 'bomb.' "Ah, Goddess, I stuck my foot in it, didn't I? I'm sorry, Neal. Let's take this a bit at a time. First, let's get you cleaned up, then we'll tackle the mess together, eh?"


	2. Chapter 2

Taking his hands in hers, Brigid guided Neal through the minefield that was his apartment, taking care to avoid the shards of glass and roughly shoving fallen furniture out of their way when needs be. She stopped at the entrance to his bathroom, "Why don't you shower and I'll take care of the rest of the mess?" She assumed he would acquiesce and leave her to cleaning things as best she could. However, her assumption was wrong. Neal refused to let go of her, keeping her with him with the strength of the grief stricken.

"Please stay. I can't..." His voice trailed off before he finished in whisper, "I can't be alone."

"But you're not alone," Brigid protested, attempting to free her hands from his as gently as possible. As she did so, a light went on in her mind. She was a talisman to him in this moment, a way to stay anchored when everything was yanked out from under him. With that realization, she ceased her efforts and agreed to stay with him while he showered.

With Brigid's agreement to stay, Neal released her hands began to strip out of his clothes without a trace of self-consciousness. Brigid averted her eyes, a blush finding its way back on to her cheeks. This was not on her list of things she thought she'd being doing today. She hovered at the door to the bathroom while Neal busied himself with preparing for a shower, confident in the knowledge that Brigid would not simply disappear and leave him alone. His shower was a swift affair instead of the longer production it normally was. He simply didn't have the energy to do more then wash his hair and run a soapy washcloth over his body. Emerging from the shower, Neal found to his relief, that Brigid was still there.

"Feeling a little better?" she asked.

Neal nodded, not trusting his voice lest it betray him. The shower had made him feel more human but that was where its benefits had ended. Kate was still gone. He was still lost and Brigid was the closest thing to an anchor that he had next to Peter.

Silence came over the pair, this time it was an awkward one with Brigid turning a flagrant shade of crimson knowing that only the towel wrapped around Neal's waist was the only thing that kept him from full nudity. Brigid was the first to break the quiet. "Um, clothes. Yes, you need clothes." She spun on her heel and left Neal gaping after her. She had taken her leave of the bathroom more quickly then perhaps was polite or prudent but she needed to get a handle on her raging hormones before she did something she regretted.

Taking deep cleansing breaths, she did her best to banish the images that floated before her mind's eye. _Neal, taking her from behind, those slim artist's fingers caressing her clit as he drove ever deeper into her. On her knees, sucking his cock, tasting in him in the most delectable and intimate ways. _"Focus, damn it," she muttered to herself. "Clothes. For. Neal." She ground each word out as if it were its own sentence. Sliding down the hall, she pushed open the second door down.

Opening it, she wasn't sure what to expect but a walk-in closet was definitely the furthest thing from her mind. Intellectually speaking, she should have expected it given the spaciousness of the house but it still caught her off guard. Recovering quickly from her surprise, Brigid picked an outfit for Neal and hurried back to the bathroom. Knocking to announce herself, she slipped back inside and set the clothes on the bathroom counter. "I'll wait for you out here while you get dressed, okay?"

Neal nodded. He waited until she stepped out and closed the door behind her. Dressing quickly, he couldn't help but notice her resemblance to Kate. She possessed the same dark hair, the same curvy figure, and the same fire in her spirit. His grief nearly toppled him as he thought about Kate, his beloved Kate, who was taken from him in a ball of fire and twisted metal mere hours ago. It wasn't fair. He leaned his head against the wall, fighting against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Brigid most certainly was not Kate but at the same time, did it really matter? She was the closest thing. Surely she wouldn't mind for just one night.

Pulling himself together, Neal opened the door and offered Brigid a wan smile. "Lead on, oh fearless leader." After a shower and fresh clothes, Neal felt something closer to human but still was ready to collapse at any given moment. Brigid guided Neal back to where the short hall met his kitchenette and opened into the main room of the apartment.

"There's still glass everywhere. Got a broom and dustpan?" she queried. Cleaning up the shards was first on her list of priorities. Papers and stray furniture was secondary to making sure it was safe to walk about within those four walls without risking having one's foot slit open.

"Over there, near the kitchen." Neal pointed from the safety of the doorway, "You don't have to do this. Really, I can take care of it." He attempted to step out only to be stopped cold by the daggers in Brigid's eyes.

"If you want to get your feet cut to ribbons, be my guest but let me remind you who has shoes on, mister." The protective streak was back and smothering all lusty thoughts that dared to raise their head. She was grateful for it. She did not need to be constantly desiring to rip Neal's clothes off and servicing him with her hands and mouth while he reciprocated with those talented fingers and nimble tongue. Brigid shook her head. _Damn it, woman. You need to focus!_

Neal was forced to concede Brigid's rather pointed assertion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get you involved…"

Brigid dismissed his apology with a snort as she worked her way around the room, carefully picking up the fallen pieces of paper and sweeping up the glittering bits of glass that lay in wait. Depositing the papers on his dining table, she looked at him with every ounce of determination that she possessed. "You didn't. I involved myself and I don't regret it. You're my friend and you're hurting. That's all that really matters to me." She made a second and third circuit of the room, capturing stray shards in the dustpan before determining it safe for Neal to emerge in his barefoot state.

They worked together to get the apartment back into something resembling order. With Neal's help, she put furniture back to rights and moved to take care of the slashed canvases. As she went to lift one of them, she gasped. Her face gazed back at her from the canvas. It was her face but not her face at the same time. The left half was definitely her, she recognized the shape of her eye and the scar that ran down her cheek but the right side was another woman. She had a bright blue eye where Brigid's was a deep brown and no scar marred her complexion.

"Neal?" His name hung as a question as she stared at the eerie portrait in front of her. Who was this girl who shared Brigid's face? Why would Neal paint this?


	3. Chapter 3

"Hmm?" Neal made a questioning noise, his back to Brigid and the object in her hands. She repeated his name, her voice a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He turned around, his heart dropping. The ruined portrait Brigid held in her hands was one he hoped that she would never see. It had started out as yet another portrait of Kate but somehow had turned into an amalgam of these two very different and very similar women: Brigid with her lack of interest in the finer nuances of art and the world it inhabited. Then there was Kate who was, well, Kate. He bit his lip. Kate was gone and he saw her staring at him from ripped canvas.

He knew he had to say something; the silence had stretched on too long. Steeling himself, Neal spoke. "Her name is, was, Kate. She…" His voice failed him, silent tears beginning to find their way down his cheeks. Brigid dropped the canvas, her questions stilled in the face of Neal's grief. He sobbed, the pain growing too much for words. Brigid wrapped her arms around his tall frame, feeling small in the face of his grief. She did what she could in being an anchor for him while his heart ached with each tear that fell. After what seemed like an eternity, Neal found his voice again. It was smaller, more vulnerable then she'd heard before. "She was…murdered. We were supposed to leave today on a plane. She was there. I saw her and then it…" Neal closed his eyes against the scene that played out in his mind, reliving the horror of Kate's death yet again. "It exploded." He looked down at Brigid, his eyes too wide and too bright. "I should have been on that plane. I should have died with her." Sobs shook him, stealing away the small measure of composure that he was attempting to build within himself.

"But you didn't." Brigid replied. "You didn't die. Lord and Lady only know why but you lived. Look, we can leave off picking the rest of this up. There isn't anything that can't wait until tomorrow." She fretted about Neal's state of mind. His focus was inward, on the scene of Kate's demise and not here in the apartment with Brigid. Weighing her options, she decided to call for back up since there was no way she could handle Neal in his grief alone. "Look, Neal. Why don't you lay down for a bit? I can take care of a couple of things for you."

"I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see it happening all over again." He turned those too bright eyes on her. "Please. Don't make me." Neal pled with Brigid with every fiber of his being. The explosion was seared into his mind's eye. Sleep was not something he could face when all he could see was Kate's face consumed by a ball of fire and all he could feel were Kate's ashes falling on him from the twisted wreckage of the private plane.

Brigid reached up and stroked Neal's face, a small smile meant to comfort Neal on her face. "I'll be here, I promise. I won't leave you to face the nightmares alone." Her reassurance held close to his heart, he acquiesced and turned to walk over to his bed where the covers were turned down just like in a hotel.

"Will you…" Neal cast his eyes to the floor, embarrassed to ask. "Will you lay with me? At least until I fall asleep?"

"Of course." Brigid stripped her pants off, leaving herself clad only in her panties and a black shirt. Normally, she would be self-conscious of how she looked in front of the man who inspired many a late night fantasy but this was anything but normal. Allowing Neal to lead the way into his bed, she pillowed his head on her breasts and carded her fingers through his wavy hair, allowing the movements and the beating of her heart to lull Neal to sleep. As soon as she was confident that he was in a deep sleep, she wriggled her way out of his arms and began to hunt for his cell phone.

It was nowhere to be found in the main area of the apartment so she went to the bathroom where she found it in the discarded pile of clothing that Neal had left from his shower. Picking it up, she began to go through his contacts and found the one she was looking for: Agent Peter Burke. Dialing the number, she prayed for an answer and that he wouldn't turn her down out of hand. She had seen both him join Neal many times for coffee and could tell he cared for him deeply. If there were anyone who could help her get Neal on solid footing, surely it would be him.

It rang only once before being answered. "Neal! Is that you?" Brigid could hear the concern that rolled off of Peter's voice in waves. She let go of the breath that she was holding without realizing it. He would help her help Neal.

"No. He's sleeping. My name is Brigid O'Hara." She was about to explain the situation when she was interrupted.

"How did you get the phone? Where is Neal?" Suspicion warred with concern in Peter's voice as he fired off the questions.

"Look, I fished it out of his pants where he left them on the floor after his shower," Brigid replied indignantly. "He's in a bad way and I got him to finally shower and sleep. We're at his apartment and I need your help. Please, I can't help him alone. He's grieving and I can't pull him out of it myself."

Something in Brigid's voice clicked with Peter. He finally recognized it as the barista that often waited on him and Neal. What was she doing in Neal's apartment? Had he gone to her after the plane exploded? How had he managed to get away from the EMTs at the scene? Too many questions dogged Peter. "I'll be right there. If he wakes up, don't let him leave."

Brigid agreed, glad for back up in helping Neal. Replacing the phone in Neal's pants, she slipped back into the bed where Neal moaned, caught in a nightmare. "Shhh," she murmured, stroking his bangs back from his forehead. "Help's on the way."

**A/N: I apologize for the shortness of the chapter. It was written in a bit of a hurry on my way to get ready for a family event. Please let me know if I took Neal or Peter too OOC. Thanks!**


End file.
